Fight or Flight
by mynewgenesis
Summary: When a fourteen year old Hermione has an twenty minute accident with her brand new time-turner, she inadvertently changes the course of history. Suddenly, a person who is supposed to be dead in her time isn't, and he hasn't forgotten her. -- HG/OC
1. Prologue

**Fight or Flight**

**Prologue**

He had been fifteen, at the time.

His fifth year at Hogwarts had so far been exactly the same as his last, filled with the same people, the same friends, the same rules, the same classes, and the same antagonism between himself and those he did not like. The only thing which had so far set apart his fifth year from the years previous was the subject matter which he was learning, and the shining, slightly scratched badge displayed on his robes with the carved, flourished letter P in the center.

Sebastian took his duties as one of the Slytherin Prefects relatively seriously, willing to uphold the rules among his classmates by setting punishments and taking points with general fairness from those around him, but he was somewhat lackadaisical in his general willingness to do the extra work. He watched his classmates with an air of suspicion which had been well-cultivated by his equally suspicious mother. As such, he was the first person to notice _her_.

She had nothing about her looks to recommend her. She was plain in every way; short, brown-haired, unassuming and kind looking. Her mud brown eyes were filled with worry and confusion and Sebastian very much wanted to know why.

The only real reason he had noticed her was because she was all alone in the hallway leading to the Slytherin Corridors, and he was prowling the hallway on his way from the dungeons to the lavoratory and happened to spot her walking stiffly towards the entrance to the dungeons. He tried to recognize her as he walked towards her, scanning his memory for any sign of her face, and found nothing. She was flouting the dress code, as well, wearing a plain black robe in a slightly different cut than his own over a style of jeans he had never seen before and a plain white tee-shirt.

"Hey," he called to her, remembering his duties. "What are you doing in the hallway during class? Have you got a note?"

She froze, having not noticed him coming, and turned very slowly to face him properly, stuffing something down her shirt as she did so. Sebastian saw the glint of a thin golden chain before it completely in her clothing and he wondered why she had felt it necessary to hide it. Normally, he didn't care so very much about students with restricted substances and joke products that had been banned by the caretaker. But something about her brushed his instincts the wrong way and he wanted to know what it was.

"What is your name?" he asked her when they were no longer far apart. As he drew near he caught a better look at her. Her eyes, while plain and brown, were clearly intelligent, and by the set of her chin, he guessed that she was not a person who would respond well to superior attitude. He forced down the pompousness of his upbringing and tempered his voice until it was softer and kinder. He watched her as she started to answer him, her eyes flickering over the Prefects badge on his chest as she did so, and then resting on his chest with an air of incalculable confusion.

"Hermione Granger," she said. Her voice was bossy and strident, but soft at its base, uncultured and confused.

"I've never heard of you," Sebastian said after a moment of thinking. "What year are you? And what house?"

"Third year," she said quietly, "Gryffindor."

She raked her eyes over his badge again. "Who are you?"

Sebastian startled. While his name wasn't as big or pompous as Malfoy, the Villeneauve name extended back a thousand years and commanded immense power, both in its native France and beyond. He was very well known among students and teachers alike both for academic achievement and his high rank in Slytherin, and for his fortune and his fathers name. "I'm Sebastian Villeneauve," he said, frowning.

Whatever he was expecting her to say, he never expected her to gasp and clap her hand over her mouth in shock. "Oh my god," she said through her fingers. "You're supposed to be dead!" Sebastian did not have time to dwell on this. She rapidly pressed her other hand to her abdomen and felt frantically for whatever was on the chain, and upon finding it, clenched her fingers around it tightly. "I have to go – I'm not supposed to be here... _You're_ not supposed to be here!" And with that, she fled.

Sebastian was too confused now to let her just run away. He snarled and took off after her, his cloak flapping out behind him and between his legs, almost tripping him and slowing him down, but she had the same problem, and he, with his longer legs, caught up to her just before she reached the corner that turned into the dungeon corridor. He grabbed her arm and hauled her back, nearly sending both of them sprawling to the floor, and she fell back against his chest with a great 'ooomph' and cried out in fright. Sebastian turned her around in his arms and felt for the chain resting against the back of her neck with one hand while holding her still with the other. Upon finding it, he pulled the length of it from its place under her shirt and snatched the end as soon as it dangled over her collar. It was heavy in his hand, and he stilled as he realized what it was. And then he paled.

It was a time turner. A very well made, very advanced time turner.

"What year is it?" he demanded, his voice no longer under the pretense of kindness.

"W-what?" she stammered. Her eyes widened and flinched guiltily from his.

"I said: what year is it?!" She looked down at the heavy gold object in his hand and blinked.

"It's 1993." Sebastian felt the blood drain from his face.

"No it isn't," he said, so softly she nearly couldn't hear him. "It's 1975. May 12, 1975."

Her eyes widened even more. She pulled away from him when he let the time turner drop around her neck but he held on, remembering what she'd said.

"You said I'm dead," he whispered. She looked away. "When do I die?" He had to know. He squeezed his fingers around her arm until she was in pain. "_How_ do I die?"

"I can't tell you."

"Tell me!"

"I _can't_! I've said too much already! I shouldn't be here!"

"TELL ME!" he bellowed. He was frantic now, trembling, his hands forcing bruises into her skin.

"You- you died in a raid..."

"A what?"

"A raid – Voldemort sent a group of his followers to kill a m-muggleborn family, and the Aurors came – there was a small battle, and you died."

"When?" He shook her.

"In September, 1980."

He didn't ask her how she knew. He didn't ask her how she knew so much about his history, or his future, as it were. All he cared about was that he had only five more years to live. Five years... so little!

"You say I joined the Death Eaters?" He had been thinking about it for a year now. He had two more years of schooling, and then he would be eligible, and so he had not yet made a decision. But, he realized, time was quite literally running out. She nodded silently.

"I _must_ go." She pulled from his hands gently, extricating herself. He stood there dumbly, staring after her. Just before she disappeared into an alcove, he called out.

"Wait!" She stopped and turned, wearily. "Will I – Will I ever meet you again?"

She shook her head. "No."

And then she turned, and she was gone.


	2. Chapter One

**Fight or Flight**

**Chapter One**

**20 years later - 1995**

Sebastian watched with veiled interest as Severus Snape picked his way carefully through the throng of angry comrades to reach his Lord, whereupon he dropped to his knees and did his best to grovel. Sebastian knew Snape well, had for nearly twenty years, and knew exactly how to tell that the man was acting. He left hand, slightly exposed from beneath his robe, was tightly clenched.

Sebastian had always been a talented poker player; he was even more talented when he was playing with life events rather than poker chips and cards. The only reason he was still alive was because he had an extraordinary ability to figure out a person's tell. Snape clenched his hand. Crouch licked his lips. Dumbledore's eyes lost their twinkle, or they started to twinkle; either way. And the Dark Lord, as impenetrable as he was, flared his tiny, slitted nostrils. Sebastians ability to keep his own tell to himself had kept him alive. It always made his chest clench with fear when Snape displayed his own.

Snape bowed low to the ground and grasped his Master's robes with his unclenched hand and brought it smoothly to his thin lips. His lank black hair swept over his face and covered view, but Sebastian, through personal experience, knew exactly what Snape was saying: "Master, I serve you."

Sebastian fought to keep his own fists from clenching as he reflected upon the words which he had muttered through bile and feelings of nausea time and time again, out of some possibly misdirected desire to subvert the power of a maniac. So far, he had accomplished very little. After seventeen years of peddling his abilities to the highest bidder, Voldemort had come knocking, at that point in time still a miscreant, scaly baby who had to be propped up in the arms of a worm, not able even to shit on his own. But Sebastian, business man that he was, recognized the opportunity to finally take something for himself and turn his life around from a useless, albeit dangerous pawn, and become something else. He had no desire for absolute power, or even control over others; no, for once, Sebastian just wanted to control his _own_ destiny, as he had been struggling to do for years. Twenty years, to be exact. Ever since _she _had come barrelling into his time and given him the fateful news that would ring in his head for the rest of his life. "You're supposed to be dead." And even better; "_You will die_."

Since he'd tentatively joined the Dark Lord in his quest for a stupid amount of power that he in all likelihood would never recieve, Sebastian had heard her name over and over again. How often the Dark Lord had marvelled and raged alternately at the small slip of a girl who had managed to circumvent him, through use of her intellect in her aid of Potter. Hermione Granger, Undesirable Number Two, ahead of Ronald Weasley only because she was a mudblood, and so she was slightly more Undersirable than a Pureblooded best friend of the Dark Lord's sole threat aside from Dumbledore. Sebastian had to agree; the girl was dangerous. The only reason Potter had been able to effectively escape the Dark Lord in June of his fourth year was because Hermione had tutored him in spells; simple ones, but effective. Truly, the girl was a marvel, which so far, only he seemed to notice among the ranks.

Sure, most of them noticed her danger because of her absurd amount of intellect, but not many of them noticed what was truly more terrifying – the girl was _powerful._ And Sebastian knew it.

After she had disappeared in his fifth year, leaving him only with a faint memory of her which no one would believe and terrifying words that would rock him out of sleep for the next five years, until September 1980 was over and he was still alive, he had researched everything he could to find out how she had come back so far in time.

In theory, time turners would be able to go back as far as the time when the time turner was created, without undue consequences. But very few wizards would be able to manage it, because the power required was so great. Voldemort might, along with Dumbledore, and by most accounts, Potter. But to go back as far as eighteen years without meaning to do so, like she had... well, needless to say, Sebastian would not have wanted to be around when the girl was still performing accidental magic.

"Villeneauve," the Dark Lord hissed gently, after dismissing Snape. Sebastian straightened himself and holstered his wand in his sleeve, clearing his mind at the same time. He passed Snape on the way to the throne and Snape looked everywhere but at him, as they had previously agreed upon. The Dark Lord, while he obviously was aware that as he and Snape had been acquainted at school, was not to know that the friendship had not died. But as he brushed by his friend, he felt the quiet brush against his mind, a reassurance he had long since become used to. It was different from the Dark Lord's blunt attack; identifiable, almost gentle.

"My Lord," Sebastian said softly upon reaching the Dark Lord's throne, as he knelt. He did the same thing as Snape had done, brushing his lips against the dirty hem of his Master's robes.

"Rise," said the Dark Lord. "Come, we will speak." He stood, and as he did so, the Death Eaters silenced themselves and bowed as one to their Master. Sebastian followed him out of the side door into the small dining room reserved for higher ranked guests.

"Villeneauve, I have a task for you. One which is of great importance to me." The Dark Lord seated himself, arranging his robes around him neatly like a king.

"For me? But My Lord, surely there is someone more qualified-"

"Do not question me, Villeneauve. Or do you doubt my judgment?" Sebastian shook his head. "Good. I make use of you because you have experience which my other followers do not. You have proven yourself to be a formiddable enemy, Villenauve, and I am most fortunate not to be against you. You might do irrepirable damage, were it not so." The Dark Lord curled his lips over sharp pointed teeth as though savoring the thought of killing Sebastian for opposing him. It was quite obvious to both of them that Sebastian was not a threat... anymore. "You have made the mistake of defying me before, but as a lenient and merciful Lord I have forgiven you. Do not ask me for the same treatment again, because you will not recieve any such thing." His red eyes narrowed dangerously.

"What would my Lord have me do?" Sebastian asked after a tense moment. The Dark Lord curled his lips again, but this time into a grimace-like smile that made Sebastian feel like shuddering.

"I'm glad you understand me," the snake-like man said softly, in a voice that required no volume to be heard. "Now listen carefully..."

----------

Two months later, Sebastian was both closer and further from completing his task than when he had started. He sat in the personal study of Severus Snape, waiting quietly whilst the Potions Master quickly completed some other business. It was a position many a man might very well kill to be in, ensconsed in the study of the most renowned Potions Master in a hundred years, alone, where one might concievably copy every secret that had ever made Snape so impossible to emulate. Snape did not share sources, he did not share findings until they were already finalized and sold, and he did not give advice. In fact, Snape rarely spoke at all, unless he was forced to do so, which, being a teacher, was unfortunately often, a fact which Snape quite complained about bitterly. As Snape's friend though, and one of the very few of them, Sebastian sat still and stared at the wall until his friend was finished, touching nothing.

Finally, twenty mintues or so later, Snape returned.

"So, you're still here," Snape said. Sebastian was unbothered by his tone, well used to it.

"Yes, I rather suppose I am." Sebastian made a show of scraping underneath his fingernails. After Snape failed to take the bait and start a conversation, Sebastian sighed and looked up. "Severus, I need your advice."

Snape sat behind his desk and gestured for Sebastian to continue.

"You know that the Dark Lord set me a task..." Snape nodded once. "Do you know what it is?"

"I hope you are not asking me because you've forgotten..." Snape drawled. At Sebastians serious face, he continued. "As it happens, for once in his illustrious career the Dark Lord has not confided in me, perhaps because of our connection. I do not know what you have been assigned, for certain, but I am aware that it involves the Department of Mysteries."

"It involves a prophecy..." Sebastian said slowly. Watching Snape carefully, Sebastian glanced at his fists. The tendons on his left wrist were taut, casting dark shadows in Snape's pale skin. Sebastian leaned forward sharply, his eyes narrowed. "Tell me what you know, Severus."

"I know nothing which pertains to your assignment."

"You do not know what my assignment is," Sebastian pointed out.

"It does not matter. I don't know what you seek but I cannot help you," Snape said, his voice strained.

"Severus -"

"I CANNOT HELP YOU!" Snape yelled explosively. Sebastian stared dumbly, shocked.

"I -"

"Leave. Do not ask me again." Snape shoved his chair backwards as he stood with his knees and it hit the wall behind him with a bang. Stiffly, Snape crossed the room and hauled the door open. "I trust you will be able to show yourself out," he growled, and he slammed the door behind him.

Sebastian stared at the empty chair for a long while before he got up, deliberating. Finally, he left, without trying to seek Snape out. He closed the door to the study gently behind him, knowing that Snape was a private man and viewed an open door, even in his own home, as an invasion.

* * *

Two weeks later, as Christmas holidays were drawing to a close, Sebastian ran into Snape in a tavern in the depths of Knockturn Alley which he frequented during some parts of the year. It was filled with filthy, nasty men who had nowhere else to go, usually hunted by the law or the families of those who they'd wronged. Sebastian liked it there because he would never be noticed, not as Sebastian Villeneauve or as a semi-known Death Eater. It was not common knowledge of his affiliations yet, but it soon would be, and Sebastian wanted his freedom while he still had it. He might have been rich, but he was not as slippery as Malfoy.

"Sebastian," said a voice behind his shoulder. Sebastian jumped at hearing his name, unconsciously reaching for his wand as he turned. When he saw Snape, he relaxed, turning back around without saying anything.

"Hello, Snape," he said stiffly. Snape slid into the chair beside him like a languid cat, without even a hint of noise.

"I am glad I saw you," Snape said. "I wished to speak with you but did not think it prudent to send an owl."

Sebastian nodded to indicate he was listening.

"I am aware that I reacted with unnecessary force, when you sought my help. I wished to... apologize, for my behavior. It was ill done of me."

Sebastian gaped. The only time he had ever heard Snape apologize in his life was when the other man had called Lily Evans a mudblood as a child. In fact, Sebastian was fairly certain that it was the ineffectiveness of that particular apology which had forever stunted his ability to make amends ever again. "I – thank you, Severus. No harm done."

He shook Snape's proferred hand and dropped the contact as soon as Snape had relaxed. Snapes hand was like ice.

"I still cannot help you very much. But I am willing to discuss your difficulties should you still wish to do so. I may be able to assist you upon hearing your dilemma." Snape's beetle black eyes bore into his own and he nodded.

"Not here."

Snape shook his head. "No, not here."

-------------------

"So, tell me," Snape invited once they were safely ensconsed in a sound-proof, warded room in Sebastians town house.

"I have been bid by our Lord to fetch him a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries." Sebastian folded his hands over his abdomen. "I do not know what it concerns, but clearly I am involved or I would not be able to collect it. What I want to know is how to get it, and what to do with it once I have it."

Snape stared. "You cannot be thinking of not delivering it... You would not survive the week, Sebastian."

"Severus, I am not a fanatic. I serve for a price. Should the cost to myself become too high, I will leave. The Dark Lord anticipates this, with deadly force, but I have been on the run from madmen my whole life. I will not be comfortable, but I will be even less comfortable if I am dead."

"You cannot hide from him, you have the mark -"

"Yes, I have the mark." He cleared his throat. "But forget that for now. How do I get it? I cannot very well do _anything_ with the prophecy unless I am able to retrieve it." Like a dog. A _retriever_. A servant.

"The Department of Mysteries is, in itself, a mystery," said Snape, frowning. "The layout is a veritable labyrinth and the Ministry has not bothered with detailed floor plans since the 8th century when it was only three rooms. It will take a great deal more than simply breaking in and snatching it."

Sebastian nodded. "I will need to infiltrate the security, I suppose. Impersonate an official."

"Polyjuice?"

"It would be the easiest way. So long as I am prepared it should work."

"And how do you plan to find your way around?"

"Severus," said Sebastian chidingly, "You forget that I have been a consummate actor since the tender age of ten."

Snape sneered. "Your self-described 'acting abilities' are no more than a plebian method of the finely honed art of calculable misdirection."

Sebastian allowed himself a small smile at that. "That is true," he allowed, "But it doesn't really matter as both misdirection and acting achieve the same result. I am sorry if I find outright lying distasteful unlike yourself."

Snape shrugged. "I do not see the point of your obsession with honesty, Sebastian – in a life as fraught with deception as yours, a lie might have served you well in one or two places."

"But how would I ever have been able to keep them all straight? We cannot all have memories like yours, Severus. I don't know how you do it."

"It is a talent, I assure you," said Snape sarcastically. Sebastian smirked. "But as to your assignment, I believe you must gain a decent understanding of the layout before attempting anything stupid."

"I would never do anything stupid, Severus," Sebastian said, but he was already running through the plans in his mind.

* * *

"Rookwood," Sebastian said in a low voice. "Come with me." He jabbed the point of his wand into Rookwoods ribs and forced him from the packed room, leading him through the secondary exit of the ballroom and shoving him into the first unused room he found on the left side of the corridor. It was a musty, disused office and smelled of cat, but Sebastian didn't particularily care and shut the door behind himself with a firm click. Rookwood was beginning to pull his wand hastily from his robe but Sebastian disarmed him and caught the wand from the air before Rookwood could do much of anything.

"I need to speak with you," Sebastian said, tucking Rookwoods wand into his own sleeve. "I need information."

"You might have simply asked..." Rookwood said, glancing shiftily at the door and the window on the side wall.

Sebastian shook his head. "No, there was too much chance that you'd go to the Dark Lord."

"Afraid I might tattle?" Rookwood sneered. Sebastian raised his wand again and wiped the sneer off his face.

"Not at all." Sebastian said, and Rookwood paled.

"What do you need to know?" he asked.

"I need to know how to access the Department of Mysteries without being seen, and I need to know where the prophecies are kept. I also want the schedule for shift changes."

Rookwoods beady eyes widened. "You can't mean to break in – it can't be done, Villeneauve, not even by you."

"Tell me," Sebastian said warningly, flicking his wand towards Rookwood's throat again. The defenseless man held up his hands in clemency.

"Alright, alright – The Department is near the Wiznagemot courtroom; there is a corridor to the left and at the end of the corridor is a door, plain black – through the door is a circular room with twelve black doors. You _must _enter the one directly to your right or you will be stuck there for a very long time. The room always starts the same, but if you open the wrong door and go back, youwon't find the right door – they change, randomly. The door on the right is the Time Room, and you go through that room to the door on the far wall, which is the Hall of Prophecy. I don't know what Prophecy is yours, so don't ask me. And the shift changes aren't scheduled. You'll just have to be careful. Why are you doing this? What is this for? I don't -"

"_Obliviate_," said Sebastian, and Rookwood ceased his questioning. He quickly snatched a thatchful of hair from Rookwood's head and stuffed it into a small pouch, which he returned to his pocket. "Much better."

Sebastian touched his wand to his temple while Rookwood sat down on the ground rubbing his head, and he pulled out the silvery strand of memories, and put them into the waiting vial in his pocket, corking it as Rookwood stood on shaking legs.

"What happened?" Rookwood asked. "Where -"

"There was an accident, Rookwood. A stampede. Cornish Pixie got you by the neck and dropped you on your head. Best get back to the party though, people might be worried about you." Sebastian backed out of the room and tossed Rookwoods wand back to him. When he was gone, he smirked to himself. _How was that for a lie, Severus?_

-----------------

He studied the memories of what Rookwood had said a great deal, studying his body language and his words until he was sure that Rookwood had been telling the truth. Satisfied, he reviewed his ability to disillusion himself until he was certain that he would not be seen, and he even made an enhancement which would allow his broom to adopt the disillusionment spell as well, so he wouldn't have to worry about flying in, either. He prepared the Polyjuice potion as a secondary method and placed it under stasis in a small, thin flask, to be used only as a last resort.

By the time he was ready to act, it was nearing the end of June. The Dark Lord had presented him with his task nearly eight months ago, and had not been nearly as impatient as Sebastian had expected. In fact, the Dark Lord seemed to expect no better and was merely resigned to his task lasting a very, very long time. Sebastian was only too happy to live down to the Dark Lords expectations.

The morning of June 24, Sebastian woke late, around the time when most people were eating lunch. He stretched as he rolled out of his bed, massaged the muscles in the back of his neck and stumbled to the kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of orange juice and snapped his fingers for his House Elf, Dolly.

"Is master wanting his breakfast now," she asked, popping into the air beside him.

"Eggs and toast, please. Scrambled."

She nodded and went to work while he took his juice with him to his study.

The night before he had pasted together the directions to the Hall of Prophecy into a copy of the Daily Prophet, using the cacophonic swirls of the regular news to hide the map. He traced the map lines very, very lightly in irridescent powder so that under the right angle it would shimmer softly, and he folded the whole of it into a small square, tucking it with his other supplies.

He had a bag of supplies which he had collected over the years, through other missions that he had learned from. There was a small pair of doctored omnioculars that would allow him to see through most unprotected walls, a pencil that would trace lines viewable only to the wielder of the pencil, and a whole host of Zonko's Joke Shop products, which, as he had discovered after his seventh year came to a close, came in handy for a whole lot more than pranks.

The rest of the day was spent relaxing in his study, reading outdated issues of magazines and smoking the rest of his last pack of ciggarettes. After the sun went down, the last shards of natural light shoving their way through the haze of smoke surrounding him like a furrowing cloud, he gathered his prepared bag and his broom, a warm and form fitting jacket, and a pair of boots specially charmed to make no noise. Standing in his backyard, he snuffed out his final ciggarette and tossed the butt to the ground, stamping it out with his toe.

-------------------

Reaching the inner sanctum of the Ministry took under an hour, and ten minutes more to reach the correct corridor. All he had to do was be sure he didn't accidentaly walk into someone while he was disillusioned, and as there were very few people still working at ten o'clock at night, it was not very difficult to avoid the presence of unwelcome people. In fact, it was downright easy. He was beginning to question why he had taken so bloody long to act, when he could have been in and out months ago.

He reached the room with the twelve doors and was almost curious enough to test Rookwood's instructions and try another door, but he wanted to be home before midnight and get a good night's sleep, because he had an investment meeting in the morning. He restrained himself.

The Time room held his interest though. Ever since Hermione had had her little accident, twenty or two years ago, depending on the point of view, he had been incredibly curious about the effects of time travel. But he forced himself to continue on, not to dawdle, and he pushed open the final door to the Hall of Prophecy. If he wanted to, he could always come back to visit the Time room, now that he knew the way.

The Hall of Prophecy was vast. Nearly three times the size of his townhouse. Thousands upon thousands of crystal orbs cluttered the shelves. He accioed his own orb in an attempt to save time, but nothing happened, so he pulled out his broom from his pocket and sailed down to the far end, where the less recent prophecies were kept. Sebastian counted out the shelf numbers to himself and paused near the middle of the room, at number 97. There, near the center of the shelf, was his name. 'Sebastian Villeneauve/Tom Marvolo Riddle/Harry Potter'. He fought down a feeling of something similar to disgust and reached out to grab it. His fingers had just barely brushed against the warm glass when he heard a massive crash. He grabbed the orb and shoved it in his pocket as he spun around in the air and turned to face the origin of the crash. Moving quickly, he moved himself to hover over the shelves where he could view the entire room.

A brief flash of light came from the door which led to the Time room. The door opened and several footsteps rushed through before it closed again. Sebastian moved forward to see who it was, but the sound of a young male voice stopped him.

"Sirius? Where are you?" A pair of feet clamoured down the aisle.

"Harry, wait – are you sure?" Sebastian froze. He knew that voice – that bossy, strident female voice. His blood suddenly felt like ice in his veins. Impossible... The odds had to be almost incalculable!

He flew over to where he could see them closer up. Hovering a few feet over their heads, he scarcely dared to breathe. But it _was _her... The same bushy, wild brown hair and darting dark eyes in almost the same pale, set face... slightly changed from two years of growth, and he realized when she opened her mouth to speak again that her teeth were smaller. She was now the age that he had been when he met her first. Fifteen.

And this was Potter? He had grown too, in the year since the graveyard. He was taller and his hair was even more dishevelled. His eyes were searching desperately, but Sebastian noted the strong, even grip the boy held on his wand; the same fierce expression was upon all of their faces, all six of them. Six children, come for what? Obviously, Potter was searching for the Prophecy, but why had he called for Sirius? Who was Sirius? Did he mean Sirius Black? The convicted Death Eater?

Sebastian had known Black in school, but they had never been friends. But Sebastian had known Regulus Black fairly well. He knew that Sirius had never been a Death Eater. But clearly Potter was on speaking terms with him. Why would Sirius be here?

Sebastian thought furiously as fast as he could. Should he stay and find out what was going on, or should he flee while he had the chance? But his mind latches stubbornly onto the thought of leaving Hermione Granger behind without first ensuring her safety. Afterall, he owed her for warning him and thereby saving his life.

He made up his mind to stay and watch. He drifted quietly overhead as they traced his own steps to row 97, where Potter let out a sound of anguished confusion.

"Sirius! Where are you!?"

"Are you sure this is what you saw, Harry? Here?"

"I'm sure! Where -?" They all six spread out briefly with their wands held high over their heads to spread light. Sirius was nowhere to be found.

"He's not here -"

And then Sebastian heard another voice. A voice that made him instinctively pull out his own wand, ready to protect the six children below him.

"Hello, Potter." Lucius Malfoy, his slimy, aristocratic drawl. Sebastian touched down on the nearest shelf, to wait.

He saw before the students did the slight disturbance in the dark that indicated the presence of more Death Eaters. Making up his mind, he flew around behind them and silently disarmed and stunned them, binding them together in a pile without a sound. He did a quick search of the area to ensure that none other were coming and flew back to his perch.

"Give me the Prophecy, Potter," Malfoy was snarling.

Potter sneered. "I haven't got it."

"Don't lie... It's not on the shelf. Give it to me."

"I don't have your stupid Prophecy, now where is Sirius!"

"Haven't you figured it out yet, you stupid boy? Your filthy godfather isn't here. He never was. The Dark Lord lied to you, Potter. But hand me the Prophecy and he might let you live."

Sebastian could see the relief evident on Potter's face when he learned his godfather wasn't in danger. But Sebastian could also see the concern flare up on the faces of his friends. Shaking his head, he stunned Malfoy and let him fall, loudly, to the ground. The children screamed.

"Be quiet, all of you," he said sharply from above. He removed the illusionment charm and jumped to the ground in front of them. "Cease your screaming, you have no idea who might be listening. Now listen to me. This is a trap. You must flee, immediately. How did you get here?"

None of them answered, but there was a sudden flurry as they all pointed their wands at his chest. He chuckled. "Don't be stupid. I can disarm all of you without even moving my wand."

He looked at all of them, their pale, determined faces, admiring their courage, before letting his eyes rest on Hermione Granger. Wondering if she would remember him -

"Oh my god," she gasped. It was the second time she had done that when faced with him. He couldn't help it. He laughed. She lowered her wand in shock as he smirked at her. Her friends stared in confusion. Only Potter's wand remained aimed steadily at his chest.

"Hello, Hermione Granger," he said, ignoring her friends. "Do you remember me?"


	3. Chapter Two

**Fight or Flight**

**Chapter Two**

"W-What are _you _doing here!" Hermione Granger demanded shrilly, regaining the presence of mind to question the appearance of a man she hadn't expected ever to see again. Sebastian fought off a grin. He hadn't expected to see her again, either.

"You _know _him?" Asked the redheaded boy beside her, Weasley, Sebastian assumed. Potter turned and stared too.

"I – it doesn't matter." She snapped at her friends. Huffing, she turned back to him. "What are you doing here!?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Sebastian said, allowing himself one small smirk. "I won't ask what the lot of _you _are doing here, though. That much seems fairly obvious." His smirk faded and he was serious again. "Listen to me, all of you. This is a trap, and you must get out of here, now. Lucius will not be the last Death Eater you will face tonight unless you leave – _now_. How did you get here?"

"We're certainly not telling you!" Weasley exclaimed hotly. His wand, Sebastian noticed, had resumed its place in pointing directly at an area in and around his heart. His Gryffindor courage – or foolhardiness – seemed to be pulling through; his wand did not betray even a tremor.

"I am not against you in this fight, but that is all I can say. For now. Potter," he said, turning to the boy, who stared at him with the wary look of a predator behind bars. Alert, taut, ready to fight, but biding its time until it had the chance to break through. "Your godfather is not here; that was a lie spun by the Dark Lord" Sebastian of course knew no such thing, but it sounded like something the Dark Lord would do, and judging by the harried appearance of the boy, Potter was obviously worried enough that he had probably recieved some sort of 'conformation' that his beloved godfather was in danger. "But if you do not send your people word soon, they may very well end up here anyways, and that serves no purpose."

"Why should we trust you?" Potter asked. His eyes were like chips of flint in his face, but undecided and wary.

"You can ask Hermione that question, but there is no time for questioning now! Do you know the illusionment charm?" They did not look entirely confident, so he pulled his wand out, slowly, raising his left hand in an exaggerated show of openness as they all, as one, jumped into battle stances, ready to disarm him should he so much as breath the wrong way. Sebastian was impressed, but not entirely worried. He turned to Hermione. "Hermione, tell your friends I won't hurt them." She stared at him for a long moment before nodding jerkily to the others.

"He's safe. Enough."

"Hold still." He quickly cast the illusionment charm on them and muttered a few more spells to cover their footsteps. A truly powerful wizard, like Dumbledore or the Dark Lord, would see through the charm. But average Death Eaters were not very powerful, and seldom were they very intelligent. "Each of you grab hold of someone else. Follow me."

He led them first down the aisle where he'd left the other Death Eaters. He quickly obliviated them and altered their memories to make them appear as though the group had been attacked by the students. He put them under a relatively powerful Stasis spell before leaving again. Then, he took them through the Time Room and into the room of spinning doors. Before closing the last door, he whispered tesely, out of the corner of his mouth; "Is everyone here?" A faint answer came from beside him in the affirmative. He could feel the small displacement of air at the exhaled breath on his neck. "Good."

He unravelled his map and peered at it in the dim light. Tapping it with his wand, muttering, he looked around the doors. There. On one of the handles, there was the faintest glimmer of irridescent powder left from his hands, where he'd opened the door the first time. He counted one to the side and opened it quickly, before the room had time to spin again. He ushered the children through and shut it firmly behind him, confident that, since none other would be looking for it, his irridescent smudge would be quite safe from sight. They were back in the corridor and they'd just barely rounded the corner when the entire Order of the Phoenix descended upon them, out of breath and desperate. At their head was Sirius Black, and he looked furious. When they saw him, he disillusioned the six children and held one arm out. Checking over his shoulder and assured that they were not followed, he allowed them to rush past him in a great swell; all but one. He snagged her wrist as she made to pass him and was sharply reminded of the last time she'd tried to run from him, when he'd nearly had to tackle her to the floor to get her to stop. Hermione was decidedly more mature looking now. She could, he guessed, pass for seventeen if she tried. "Wait one second, Hermione. I wish to speak with you for a moment."

She looked torn, wanting to escape from him, back to her group, but she stayed. He released her wrist, lest someone make assumptions. "I just wanted to tell you – You may hear rumors of my... affiliations. It would feel like betrayal if you were led to believe I am a true Death Eater after you saved my life so many years ago by convincing me to go the opposite way. I thank you for that. Sincerely – I should be dead, you were right, but I am not, and you are the only person to thank for it. I made a different choice and, if you are correct, have led a different life than what might have been. Thank you."

She watched him seriously for a moment, before her brow creased slightly. "What do you mean, a 'true' Death Eater?"

"I cannot explain anything except to tell you not to believe everything you hear. Make no mistake, I do not covet Dumbledore's approval any more than the Dark Lord. I am my own man. I simply wished you to know that I am not -"

"Evil?"

"That works."

She smiled, a tiny smile, wry at the edges of her lips. "I understand. I forgive you." Somehow, he felt as though he were being laughed at. But her lips became dutifully serious once more. "May I tell them what you've told me? And what h-happened?"

He thought for a short moment. And then he nodded, slowly. "But I think only Dumbledore for now. Should the Dark Lord become aware of the fact that I am more acquainted with you than I led him to believe, there would be... difficulties." She nodded firmly. "And you may also tell Dumbledore that he may soon be getting a package by post. From an ally, of sorts." Her eyes crinkled at the edges a bit while her brain processed his words, in record time, and then smoothed as she nodded again.

"I understand. And – Sebastian? - Thank _you_." She snatched his hand and squeezed it before he could yank it back, and then she was gone, back to the Order of the Phoenix.

Quietly, he illusioned himself once more and hopped on his broom, floating unnoticed to the same entrance he had used only an hour or so before. Running over the events of the evening in his mind, he locked each nugget of firmly away in the box the Dark Lord could not breach after dissecting and analyzing it until he was satisfied that he had left nothing undone. Pleased, or relatively so, he switched gears in his brain to think of other things – namely the business deal he would be conducting tomorrow morning, the result of which would, hopefully, usher in a new era for the Wizarding population which had not seen this particular area of communication change in nearly a hundred years. Long enough to become stagnant and corrupt. Sebastian smirked. By tomorrow at lunchtime, he would be the first private owner of the Daily Prophet. He was buying out the Ministry.

Sebastian wandered through the building that housed the Prophet, doing his best to appear at ease and comfortable. He was cataloguing things he would be changing in the back of his mind, noting what was working and what wasn't.

_Working:_

_Lower level writers- so far, they remain uncorrupted_

_Not Working:_

_Editor, Sr. Editors, Rita Skeeter_

_Everyone on Level Three is corrupt_

_Organizational layout of building_

_Business Structure_

_Connection to Fudge_

_General level of cleanliness and upkeep._

_Inter-office cooperation_

_Sectional Editors_

He kicked another tipped over rubbish-bin out of his way and stepped into what appeared to be a war-zone. Suddenly fed-up, he snarled. His guide was startled and jumped. "Sir?" the man trembled.

"This tour is finished. Is there a meeting area large enough to house everyone?"

"The main board-room has an automatic expansion charm."

Sebastian nodded. "And is there an intercom of some sort?"

The guide nodded. He pointed to the wall a few feet from the door, where there was a large red button under the cover of a clear case. Sebastian marched over to it and yanked back the casing. Above the button was a small plaque. '_Push Button, tap with wand. Hold wand to throat and say 'Sonorous''. _Sebastian did so and began the charm.

"Attention!" His voice rang through the floor like a fire-cracker. The guide jumped nervously again at the sound, and Sebastion rolled his eyes. "Everyone will cease what they are doing, immediately. This is the new owner of the Daily Prophet, Sebastian Villeneauve, and I will be conducting a meeting in the main board-room in exactly five minutes. Attendance is mandatory, and I do not care what you are currently working on, you will be there, or you will lose your job." The guide squeaked. "Thank you."

There was a clicking sound as the charm ended, and Sebastian watched with amusement as the floor was suddenly swamped with thundering employees, all of whom were racing for the elevators, chattering wildly. He turned back to the guide. "Please take me to the board-room."

He was led through the throng to a smaller door at the end of the hall labeled 'Stairs'. "It will be faster this way, sir, the elevators will be overrun." They climbed three floors to the highest level, and Sebastian used his height and broad shoulders to force his way through the crowded floor. Finally, they reached the board-room, which had, true to the guide's word, expanded to fit everyone. It resembled more of an auditorium now, and Sebastian placed himself at the front, in the center of the small platform meant for presentations, where three spitting Editors found him a moment later.

"Mr. Villeneauve! What is the meaning of this? This is a disruption to our work-day, and we will never make deadline if you keep interrupting us!" The elderly, mean looking man to his left sneered at him, his tone derisive and demeaning.

"Who are you?"

"I am the Senior Editor, Mr. Royce Gibbins!" He drew himself up, huffing proudly.

Sebastian shook his head. "And you?" he turned to the other two.

"Griselda Ronah," said the woman frostily. "Assistant Editor. And this is Gilbert Trigg. Sectionals." She jabbed the man beside her with a pointed elbow and he snarled at her.

"Good. Go sit down." Sebastian said.

"This is an outrage!" Griselda shouted at him. "Mr. Villeneauve, I don't know how much you know about the nespaper business, but we have very strict standards, and they do not include threatening the staff and disrupting the day just so the new high and mighty owner can prove his muscle! This had damned well better be important!" She spoke as if he were a small, dirty child with the brain of a lesser animal, and Sebastian felt his annoyance grow ever more present in his chest as the two goons beside her nodded their approval. Sebastian fought to keep his temper.

"Sit _down_." He enunciated his words with precision and jabbed a finger at the three chairs left for them in the first row. Once they were seated, he tapped his wand to his throat and cast the _Sonorous_ charm again.

"Is everyone present?" There were a few nods near the front, so he continued. "Good. I am Mr. Villeneauve, and I am, as of this morning, the new owner of the Daily Prophet. As such, I am the head of this comany, and you will respect me as you would any other boss. I will be the first of such, I understand, as previously the Prophet has been controlled and owned by the Ministry. This is unacceptable, and it will cease, now. If any of you also recieve pay from the Ministry in whatever capacity, please raise your hands." Five near the middle raised their hands, all middle-aged beaurocrats with nasty expressions. "Thank you. The five of you – your services will no longer be required. You may go."

A sharp gasp rippled through the crowd. "This is ridiculous!" Shouted the middle man. "You'll hear about this!"

"Yes, I'm sure. Thank you for your time, goodbye," he waved a hand in dismissal. "This is a newspaper. Not an extension for the Ministry to spout its own gospel. Please, recite for me the mission statement of this business. You, near the front, in the green." A young woman stood and cleared her throat nervously.

"The Daily Prophet will strive to publish the truth, and only the truth, regardless of personal opinions of the publisher. The Daily Prophet will remain honest through its dealings and respect the privacy of its readers. The Daily Prophet will use only legal, moral methods to gain sources and stories."

"Thank you. What is your name and position?"

"Er, Flora Midgen, sir, Secretary to the Assistant Editor."

"Very good. You may sit down." She blushed and seated herself, but relaxed. "As Miss Midgen has said – 'The Daily Prophet will strive to publish the truth!' And that is exactly the point of its existence! Which is why I will be personally overseeing the restructuring of this business from the top down, beginning today! Everyone will please finish the projects which are currently assigned to you, you will have new instruction within the week. Thank you, you are dismissed." The audience began to stand and filter into the aisles, but a loud and angry shout from the front row halted their process.

"What right do you have to come in and destroy all of my personal work for the sake of your own 'noble ideals'?" Griselda sneered at him. "You know nothing. You're nothing but a snob with too much money and no idea of what to do with it. You should take your stupid nose out of what you don't understand and stay in your little office, where you belong!"

"Mrs. Ronah, Mr. Gibbins, and Mr. Trigg. All of you may begin packing your offices this afternoon, you will no longer be required. I wish you all the luck in your future endeavors and I am sure it has been a pleasure working with you." An astonished gasp flew through the room like wildfire and crazed whispering, some shouting, rose up in the audience. The three editors paled as one and gaped at him with shock and fury.

"You can't do that!" Mr. Gibbins cried with twisted fury. "This is my newspaper! This is my newspaper!" he screamed.

"You're a twisted old fool!" Came an answering voice from the back. "You're all corrupt! I never liked working for you!"

A second, feminine voice trilled in alongside. "You only serve yourself!"

"Yeah!"

"I hate you, you crazy bat, Griselda!" Sebastian coughed behind his hand as Flora Midgen screamed at her old boss.

A hundred more screams came from the crowd and everyone began to shout their opinions. Sebastian left them to it. The three battered, horrified ex-editors stared in dismay at the riot on their hands, and Sebastian smirked. They deserved it. Turning to his guide, he asked quietly; "Which of them had the best office?"

The guide stared at him. "Mr. Gibbins, sir. It's at the end of the hall. Has full sized bay windows."

"Show me?"

The guide coughed nervously and smiled tremulously. "Yes, sir. By the way," he added, peeking up at him, "I think you did just what the newspaper needs. Those three have been in Fudge's pocket since Fudge was made Minister."

"Thank you for the support," Sebastian laughed. "What's your name?"

"Jeffrey Elliot."

"Excellent."

The office was indeed grand. A massive, room-to-play-quidditch-in-it room, with wall to wall windows, overlooking Diagon Alley and muggle London beyond. Smiling, he turned back to Jeffrey, who was looking much less nervous now. "This will be my office. Once Gibbins has moved out, I will bring my accoutrements, and make myself at home. I would also like to move Miss Midgen around and she will be my personal secretary, if she isn't opposed. I intend to be very involved with this newspaper in the beginning, to get it to the point where the newspaper is what it should have been long ago. What exactly is your job here?"

"I was the assistant to Mr. Royce, sir."

"Would you mind becoming my assistant instead, seeing as Mr. Royce will no longer be with us?"

"I would be honored, sir."

"Good. No more 'sir's'. Call me Sebastian. I'm going home for lunch. Send me an owl when the office is ready."

"Will do, Si – Sebastian."

Sebastian clapped a hand on Jeffrey's shoulder on his way out. "Good man."

Once he was back to his townhouse, he ordered lunch from Dolly and went to his study, where he pulled the orb from the robes he'd worn the night before without touched it with his skin. He reclined in his chair and levitated it in front of him, as though it were dangling from a thread. It spun lazily in the air as Sebastian watched it, studying the exterior surface before he decided what to do with it.

He wanted to send it to Dumbledore. The Dark Lord couldn't have it, of that he was certain. Something about it was important enough that he sent Sebastian to get it. But he also tricked Potter into going for it as well, which either meant that the Dark Lord had expected Sebastian to fail, or he had never really intended for him to get it to begin with. Either way, it didn't bode well for his safety. The Dark Lord would in all liklihood take his anger out on whoever was nearest, but Sebastian would recieve a good deal of curses as well, because he had failed.

Would the Dark Lord believe him? He would tell him that Potter had reached the orb before him, and he came only in the aftermath. He had seen the fallen Death Eaters and fled, assuming that it was a trap. He escaped. The orb was gone.

He would hopefully be able to tell the story in as close as possible a format to the truth. If the Dark Lord pressed for answers, he would have to make something up.

But for now, he needed to know the Prophecy.

He pulled a sheet of parchment and a quill from his drawer and loaded his nib with ink before he reached out and took the orb. Ready, he commanded it. "Open."

Instantly, the orb glowed bright white and heated in his palm. A low, eerily familiar voice escaped the glass and chanted in his ear.

"_The ones with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approach_

_The first born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies_

_And the Dark Lord will mark one as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not_

_And either equal must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives_

_And the second a shadow whose rise to battle with his Lord shall hark the end of the night_

_And his skill shall hamper his master until the red dawn should rise."_

Sebastian scribbled furiously until he had it all down. Putting down the orb, he stared at the words which would so shape his destiny, like the words Hermione Granger had gasped so long ago. "_You're supposed to be dead_." he'd already beaten those words. He was alive, and he'd worked damned hard to stay that way. But now new words, which he instinctively felt were aimed directly at him, took root in his mind. But strangely, these new words, these new lines he had to follow... They didn't make him feel like he had no control. Because they weren't anything more than what he had already decided.

_And the second a shadow_ – a shadow because for over a decade he had lived as a wraith, invisible and undetected, but dangerous and dark – _whose rise to battle with his Lord shall hark the end of the night. _He was going to fight the Dark Lord. And hopefully live. _And his skill shall hamper his master until the red dawn should rise._ His skill? His skill was being invisible – he was an assasin, a bounty hunter, a wand-for-hire. His skill was killing and thievery and death. His skill was mayhem, but organized. His skill was being untraceable and getting the job done, whatever it was and whatever the cost, without being seen or heard, or, most importantly, found. Slowly, Sebastian started to smile. He was going to bring down the ranks of Death Eaters. From within.

Carefully, he wrapped the orb in strong tissue and placed it in a small box, which he wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. He dipped his quill in ink again and wrote carefully on the brown paper – _To_ _Albus Dumbledore – from a friend._

He put his quill back in its stand and blew the ink dry.

"Rufus," he called. His eagle owl flew over from his perch and held out one leg, staring beadily. When he was finished tying the package, Sebastian carried him to the window. "Take this to Albus Dumbledore. Do not be seen. And make sure you aren't followed – if you are, come back." The owl blinked once in response and Sebastian nodded. "Good. Safe flight." With a gentle nip, the owl hopped onto the windowsil, spread his wings, and took off.

His task wasn't much different from his original plan. He had accepted the Dark Lord's offer not for want of riches and power but because there was only so much inside knowledge he could get about the Death Eaters before he finally had to buckle down and ask himself if his goal was important enough that he might sacrifice himself for its end. He wanted the reign of Death to end. He wanted the Dark Lord to fall. He had to join them to destroy them.

It was as if his desire to end it all had never been his own personal desire to begin with, but representation of the Prophecy working through him. But that didn't wash. He knew his heart, whatever was left of it. He knew who he was. His faults, his talents – good and ugly. He wanted it over.

A heady sense of anticipation came over him before he glanced at his watch. He needed to get back to the Prophet. He went into his second office, the one he used for business dealings and not his own personal exploits. He systematically shrunk the desk, the cabinet, the bar and the file-drawers. Stuffing them in his pocket, he left the room, stopping only to shrink a one-of-a-kind painting of London and put it carefully in his other pocket.

Shouting a quick goodbye to Dolly, he apparated.

"You'll regret this," spat Griselda. "Mark my words, boy, you _will_ regret this."

"I would warn you not to threaten me, but I fear the Ministry is as much in your pocket as you are in theirs. I regret that my complaints would not do much good."

"I've warned you. Do you want a real threat?" She stepped closer, extending one red-painted, long and crooked fingernail towards him. It looked like a talon. "There are those who will not bow to ubiquitious demands made by an upstart like yourself. And one day, your days of power will be over. I promise you that."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow before dramatically checking his watch. "I believe your time has expired. Good day, Madam." Her face twisted with stolen rage, trembling as she swept past him. He probably could have handled their dismissal better than he had. Perhaps he shouldn't have publicly humiliated him... but there really was only so much outright disdain a man could take before he snapped, and they had just happened to push him over the edge in a room full of their employees. But, he decided, steeling himself against any more thoughts of regret, it was for the best. Starting now, the Daily Prophet would be run like an honest business, and in the end, some reward or another would come to him.

"Jeffrey," he called. "Is Mr. Gibbins finished with his office, now?" The man hurried over and nodded, smiling.

"He's just finished. You may move yourself in now."

"Good." He strode into the empty room and began setting the objects in his pocket down on the floor where he supposed they would look the best and, once his pockets were empty, he unshrunk everything. His prized ebony desk blew up to its normal size in the center of the room, becoming a sort of dividing line between the door and the windows. His comfortable cushioned chair he left pulled out from the desk, and he floated the painting to hang beside the door, directly within his line of vision. He conjured two guest chairs and floated them in front of his desk. He liked what the effect was – when he sat in his own chair, he would have his back to most of London, and the guest would view him as a part of it. When anyone faced him, they faced all of London, and through the window they faced the readers of the Prophet. A nice, subdued, piece of metaphorical influence on his side.

Once he was done unshrinking everything and adjusting their positions, he waved his wand to unlock his file cabinet and pulled the top drawer completely out, which was where all of his quills, inks, parchment, and his planner were. He organized them on the desk and fit everything into a drawer, and when he closed it he was finished.

He sat down in his chair and looked around for a moment before calling Jeffrey. "Would you please fetch Miss Midgen for me, please? And once you've done that, please choose one of the secretorial offices for yourself." Jeffrey grinned.

"Yes, Sebastian. Thank you." He glanced at the door. "And you'll be wanting to change the sign on the door, lest people think you're Mr. Gibbins."

"Ah, I'd forgotten." He waved a wand at the door and the golden letters rearranged themselves on the plate to read _'Sebastian Villeneauve, Head'. _

Promptly returning his attention to his clean and newly organized desk, Sebastian almost didn't notice when a strange and yet familiar bird appeared outside his window. It was a Pheonix, and Sebastian recognized it the instant he turned to see the source of the knocking.

He couldn't remember the bird's name, but he clucked to it, hoping the bird wouldn't get offended (it didn't) and let it in once he figured out how to open the window. The bird had a small envelope in its mouth and Sebastian didn't even need to read it to know who it was from.

"Dumbledore sent you, did he?" he asked the bird, watching it curiously before taking the envelope from its beak. "And what does he have to say?" The bird remained mute at his questioning but cocked his head to the side in a questioning and curious way. "I assume you've been told to wait for a reply."

The brightly colored bird made a jerky movement with its head that could have been an affirmative nod. "Alright, then."

He broke the wax seal on the back of the paper and unfolded the letter, laying it flat on his desk to read properly.

_Dear Mr. Villeneauve;_

_In light of recent events, namely the safe return of my students and your acquisition of the Daily Prophet, I humbly request an audience with you, to discuss a small matter pertaining to your one-time __adventure involving a certain one of my students, many years ago. If it is not inconvenient for you, I will be testing a new type of mint tea tomorrow morning upon the hour of 11 o'clock, an endeavor which you are most welcome to join me in. I also put forth an offer of freshly baked biscuits._

_I anticipate the swift return of your answer with Fawkes._

_With warm regards,_

_Professor Albus Dumbledore,_

_Head Master,_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Sebastian looked up at the bird with a wry smile on his mouth. "Your master Dumbledore certainly knows how to get things done, doesn't he?" Shaking his head, he pulled a piece of clean parchment from his drawer and scribbled a quick reply.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_I accept your invitation with warmest thanks. I shall be upon the steps of the Hogwarts gates at 10:50, if it would not trouble you to find someone willing to let me in. _

_Sincerely,_

_Sebastian Villeneauve_

Wondering if he was finally getting in over his head, after years of swimming at a relatively easy pace, Sebastian sent the letter off with Fawkes and readied himself for his next appointment, with one Flora Midgen, who was, hopefully, about to become his very first sensible secretary.


	4. Chapter Three

Fight or Flight

Chapter Three

His boots crunched on the sparsely laid gravel path that led up to the massive, wrought iron gates of Hogwarts. It was a mildly nostalgic feeling, seeing the great castle shrouded with morning mist and partially obscured by the tips of the forbidden forest, through the bars of the massive gate. The castle had, after all, been his home for seven years. The sight of it still resonated heavily in his chest like a pang of sickness that refused to go away, and he suspected that it would always do so. But he had lived there last almost two decades ago, and he was well past the deep longing to return. He had his own life now, and as much as he appreciated the brilliance with which his childhood memories had been lit in the soft, muted glow from the castle and all that it inspired, he had no desire to be a child again, to return to the school and go to classes, or to submit to be ruled by any of the teachers; least of all, Dumbledore.

But he got the feeling, as he reached the gate and touched the heavy metal lock with the tip of his wand to alert whoever happened to be waiting for him to his presence, that he was about to submit himself to Dumbledore anyway, whether he wanted to or not.

It was Dumbledore's way to cajole and coerce men less swayed by thoughts of guilt and romantic notions of bravery into the service of the light. He was a clever, albeit manipulative man, and Sebastian knew full well that by simply showing up at the castle, he was willingly putting his name forth as a contestant in some heady battle playing out in the old man's mind. On the other hand, though, the battle playing in Dumbledore's mind was probably a very good indication of who was going to end up winning. However deplorable the man's methods may be, he was a brilliant minded man, and Sebastian would do well to heed the Headmaster's commands, warnings, or whatever bits of advice the man deemed it appropriate to dole out on whoever was nearest.

After all, the twinkly brightness that often showed up in the light blue eyes of the Headmaster was about as innocent and innocuous as a rampaging hippogriff in the racier section of Madame Puddifoot's tea-house. Dumbledore might exude the facade of grandfatherliness, but he was no innocent man. He was a warrior, and he was a damned good one at that.

Sebastian admired this, but all the same, he would rather escape this little soiree with his freedom, questionable as it might be, intact.

A heavy groan permeated the dusky silence near the gates as the pistons in the hinges popped out of their rest and into action as the gate slowly, achingly swung open to permit him entrance. He stepped through the small gap between the bars to meet his gatekeeper. Groaning, and realizing that he had been holding out on the vain hope that it might be either Severus or Miss Granger coming to meet him, he recognized the surly, ugly and twisted face of a very annoyed and put-upon Filch.

"Hello, Argus," Sebastian said, disgruntled. The caretaker grunted with a sneer sweeping his already bedraggled face into an eerie replica of the backside of a hairless cat. Sebastian tried not to dwell on the resemblance.

"Villeneauve," Filch welcomed mockingly. "Watch yer step. Wouldn't want nothin' bad to happen to ye when yer Professor Dumbledore's personal guest..." He spoke in such a way that Sebastian knew precisely how thrilled the man would be if something horrible _did _happen to befall him whilst on school property.

Looking sideways at the caretaker, he asked dryly: "So I suppose you won't be attending my bedside should an angry centaur happen to attack me in the middle of the path?"

"I'd sooner drink a bottle o' Firewhisky given to me by a Weasley twin," he growled. "Ye filthy, snot-nosed slimeball Slytherin."

Sebastian laughed and raised his eyebrow, impressed with Filch's deplorable lack of creativity and ridiculous attempt at alliteration, even knowing that it was bound to upset the man even more. While he realized that baiting the man probably wasn't the nicest thing he could possibly be doing with his time, getting over their past antagonistic history was extremely unlikely, and Sebastian wasn't very willing to try, given the effort it would probably involve. While he had normally been a relatively studious, well-mannered student, his lax attitude with regards to Zonko's joke products and the occasional endorsement of well planned pranks by his house during his tenure as Prefect had gotten him into his fair share of hot water with Mr. Filch. And he didn't really regret it. At all.

They walked in silence, the blasted cat belonging to Filch trotting gleefully alongside her master with occasional baleful glares thrown his way for good measure, as if she thought, like her master, that he was up to something. Which, he supposed, he probably was.

Just nothing that involved Filch.

They rounded the sweeping curve of the path that led just past the lake to the front doors of the castle. The sight of the castle in its entirety really did make him feel nostalgic this time, full on and unabashedly. He kept walking, ignoring the half-mad desire to stand and stare at it for a while, to drink in the sheer majestic beauty of the thing so that he might think back upon it later and recall the intricate details of its surface. Growling, he cursed himself for being a prat. He liked pretty things, sure, but only pretty things he could buy, and nothing that he couldn't have. Hogwarts was nothing he could own for himself, and so he snapped at any further attempts of his annoyingly soft heart to crave it.

As they approached the front steps, he turned to Filch again. "You know, I can find the way to the Headmaster's office myself. You need not accompany me if you have somewhere else to be."

Filch appeared to be quite outraged. "I don' think so! How'm I s'posed to know ye aren't smugglin' contraband!? I gotta check yer pockets." He said this almost gleefully. Sebastian realized this was probably the most excitement involving something other than dirty floors and dungbombs the man saw in a week.

Sighing, he held his arms out. "Check me then."

Filch pulled out a slender looking wand type thing, made of hard black material that wasn't wood, and pointed it gleefully at him, his face a picture of joy. The cat was sitting on the top step looking also very pleased, on behalf of Filch. She began cleaning her dirty, scraggly fur whilst Filch prodded him with unnecessarily hard jabs of the stick in his chest.

After ten minutes of thorough (and Sebastian meant _thorough_), Filch appeared to be done, and disappointed, after having poked every inch of his body without finding anything. Sebastian rearranged his robes with a huff, his patience quite evaporated. "I'll be going now, if you don't mind. I believe I'm late."

He began to stalk off, doing his very best impression of Severus with his robes billowing out behind him, but stopped suddenly and turned back to Filch, who looked furious but unsure exactly why. "And you needn't bother collecting me after, either. I believe I can show myself out."

Filch let out a hiss of poorly constrained rage but Sebastian was around the corner, and grinning to himself, before the man could say much of anything. He followed the main floor corridor past the Great Hall and up the slight incline to the gargoyle statue that concealed the Headmaster's office. He presented his name to the piece of stone and waited a few moments until the stone moved and admitted him to the staircase. As he moved into the shadows of the alcove he saw a couple of older students unabashedly staring at him. He grinned at them with his best expression, usually reserved for frightening small animals, and they looked away, both blushing. Pleased with himself, he was smug as he reached Dumbledore's inner sanctum.

"Sebastian, my boy," called the cheerful voice of Dumbledore from his desk. Steeling himself and plastering his less-frightening smile on his face, he stepped inside.

"Professor. So good of you to invite me," he said, walking forward. Dumbledore waved aside his thanks with a wrinkled hand.

"Please, call me Albus. You are no student here. We are on equal terms."

"Thank you, Albus," Sebastian said, feeling distinctly like he had just fallen into a trap. Of friendliness.

He took the comfortable seat across from the Headmaster and folded his legs politely in front of him, and accepted the cup of tea. He also noted the promised biscuit on his saucer and grinned when it was every bit as delicious and fresh as he had expected.

The chatted amicably about nothing in particular for a few moments before Dumbledore evidently felt the time for empty chat was over. He put down his saucer but retained the teacup, feeling more comfortable when he had something with which to occupy his hands.

"My dear boy, you know, I expect, that I have not called you here for idle pleasantries." At Sebastian's nod, he continued, the twinkle in his eyes somewhat diminished. "I wished, firstly, to thank you, most sincerely, for coming to the aid of my students at the Ministry. I feel confident when I say that you have quite probably saved at least one of their lives. And also, you were an incredible aid in the capture of no less than six Death Eaters, all of whom were employees of the Ministry."

"Albus, I accept no thanks, because none is required. I acted merely out of instinct and the desire for self-preservation."

"A noble goal, considering one as delicately placed as yourself." Albus nodded.

"And what exactly would you know of my delicate placement?" Sebastian asked, dropping the pretence of polite deference.

"Miss Granger has told me of your connection with her, and of your warning not to, oh let me see... ah, 'not to believe everything you hear'. Am I correct?"

"You are," Sebastian admitted grudgingly. He'd forgotten that he'd given Miss Granger permission to divulge that particular secret, which was stupid of him and uncharacteristic of his usually adept and detail-driven personality.

"Then I believe I am also correct in assuming you mean to say you are not the consummate loyal Death Eater."

"Don't you already know as much from Severus? I thought he worked for you." Sebastian was mollified to see Dumbledore's eyes widen a fraction.

"He told you?"

"No, I noticed on my own."

"How?" Dumbledore asked, sounding faintly surprised, which, considering his predilection for remaining calm in even the most trying of times, was evidence enough of his astonishment. Sebastian grinned somewhat more maliciously than he probably should have.

"You should inform your spy that if he wishes to remain alive to see another twenty years, he would do well to hide his unfortunate habit of clenching his left fist when he is stressed."

"Does Volde-"

"No, he doesn't know. As far as I know, I am the only one who has noticed. But I would not count on it remaining that way. Were I, as you said, the 'consummate Death Eater', there might be trouble. As it is, I merely have a talent for discovering weaknesses."

"A 'tell'." Dumbledore's eyes narrowed faintly and Sebastian could practically see the wheels churning in that brilliant mind, attempting to figure out how exactly Sebastian's talent might be of use to the side of the Light. Admittedly, Sebastian knew that his ability to figure out when a person was hiding something would probably be an extremely useful tool for the Order of the Phoenix; after all, the same talent was the main reason he was still alive after so many years of subterfuge. But all the same, Sebastian hated the idea of being used, and was not very receptive to manipulation.

"I don't want to join the Order, Albus. I can guess that you're attempting to get me to join, but I won't do it. I know Severus, and I know that he has his reasons for serving you, and I have no doubt that the Order is important. But I've also seen what all the cloak-and-dagger double-crossing has done to him, and I don't want it. Be assured that I am not against you, but neither consider me entirely with you."

"I see you have considered this a great deal," Dumbledore said, sounding a little bit disapproving.

"I have. It is not for my distrust of the Order. It is for my unwillingness to submit to more authority than is completely necessary. You will remember me from my days as a schoolboy, I'm sure. I've never taken orders well."

"No, you haven't." He sounded almost wistful. Probably because Sebastian wouldn't be his second pawn, after Potter. Such a jewel as he would be a crown in Dumbeldore's collection, to be sure.

"Do not hinder me, and we will essentially be working towards the same end. In fact, I am even willing to work with you."

"Are you?" Dumbeldore asked, a little bit hopeful.

"I am. Just not under you."

Dumbledore considered him with a piercing, steely gaze for what seemed like an eternity before the damned twinkle finally made its way back into his face. Finally, he cracked a wizened old smile.

"Well, I am old enough to recognize that I may not have everything. I will accept this. Now, tell me, what have you figured out about the Prophecy?"

Sebastian relaxed and grinned, knowing he had won. "You haven't heard it?"

"I have, but I must confess I would like to discuss it with someone other than my Pensieve. And I have no wish for Harry to open it for me without knowing more about its contents."

"You should tell him," Sebastian said seriously. "He's already been fooled once. He is unlikely to be fooled again if he is adequately prepared." Dumbledore seemed to consider this but shook his head.

"I will decide that once I have heard your personal thoughts on the Prophecy."

Sebastian shrugged. "Fine. Where's the orb?"

Dumbledore pulled out the small package from a locked drawer in his desk and set on the table. Sebastian pulled his chair closer, and after depositing his teacup on the surface, touched his wand to the surface of the glass and commanded it to open. The same eerie, hoarsely whispered words rang from the orb like a bell and swamped both men with intense feelings of something neither could precisely define. Perhaps it was the feeling of being shrouded, literally, in destiny.

Once it was over, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. "You have given thought to what this means, then?"

"I have."

"And?"

"Potter will do the actual vanquishing of the Dark Lord, but I will be bringing down the ranks of the Death Eater's from within. It's important that I accomplish this. The Death Eaters will likely live on in an attempt to fulfil their master's wishes even after he is gone. They must be brought down before the end will actually be the end."

"That is true." Dumbledore nodded. "That is much the same conclusion as I reached myself, I must confess. I still feel unwilling to place this burden upon Harry. He is too young to fully grasp what will come."

"I disagree," Sebastian said firmly. "It isn't wise to leave him in the dark. I don't believe the Dark Lord will hear of this, not unless I give him the Prophecy, but if he ever does, he mustn't know anything that Potter does not. It would give him the advantage, and I fear once he has an inch, it will cost many lives gaining it back."

"Speaking of which," Dumbledore said, "You were meant to bring the Prophecy to Voldemort, were you not? Severus spoke of a task that Voldemort had set for you."

"Yes, that is true. But obviously I cannot give it to him."

"No, not this one," Dumbledore said, looking at the orb thoughtfully. Sebastian raised an eyebrow. The Headmaster's tone was far too jovial.

"Are you suggesting..."

"A false Prophecy." Dumbledore was smiling now. "He only knows the very beginnings of the Prophecy – what Severus heard as a young man regarding the part about the child born to those who have thrice defied him and marking him as his equal. Severus never heard the end. The extent of your involvement is unknown to him, although obviously with your name on it you are suspect. It would be easy enough to, ah, tweak the specifics of your task."

"It would be very difficult to forge," Sebastian said, feeling the faint glimmer of hope in his chest. It wasn't a bad idea. In fact, it was a damned brilliant idea. Why hadn't he thought of it?

"But not impossible."

"No, not impossible." Sebastian looked at the orb too. "But what would it say?"

"I find that Voldemort is a firm believer in his own infallibility," Dumbeldore said mildly.

"We could lead him directly into a trap."

"It does seem to be the most advantageous solution."

Sebastian grinned. Oh, this was going to be fantastic. He had always loved a good prank.

Their business for the day concluded, Dumbledore led Sebastian to the door of his office, in good humor and thoroughly pleased with their accomplishments for the day. So pleased was the Headmaster that he conjured a shiny Visitor badge out of thin air and fixed it cheerfully to the folds of Sebastian's robes directly over his heart.

"I wouldn't begrudge a man a visit with a few old friends," he said, blue eyes twinkling merrily. Once again, Sebastian was reminded of the old muggle Santa Clause. "I believe Severus is teaching fifth year Potions for the next, oh..." --he glanced at a clock in the corner-- "Ten minutes or so. I believe you can catch him before he leaves for lunch."

Still grinning, the old man ushered Sebastian from the office like an old matchmaker. Half amused, half exasperated, Sebastian decided a visit with Severus would be quite a nice way to spend the remainder of the morning and headed off to the dungeons.

The heavy wooden door to the Potions Lab was open a crack, and Sebastian pushed it open just enough that he could slip through without any noise. He should have counted on Severus' keen awareness of everything around him though, because his friend spotted him the instant he wrapped his fingers around the edge of the door. Severus stopped whatever he was saying and stared, obviously surprised. A few of the students noticed their teacher's sudden pause and twisted in their seats to see him. He heard, rather than saw, Miss Granger gasp in surprise, whilst the young Mr. Malfoy attracted his attention over to his side of the room.

"Mr. Villeneauve! What are you doing here?" Malfoy exclaimed, utilizing the silence of his classmates both to imprint on their minds that he was infinitely more well connected than the rest of them, in knowing one of the richest men in the whole continent, and also drawing Sebastian's attention to himself. He also seemed to have gained an unattractive new ruthless glint in his eyes, and was silently challenging the other students to say anything to dispute his good name. Belatedly, he realized that with Lucius in Azkaban, Draco probably had been on the recieving end of doubt and derision and was now utilizing whatever means necessary to rebuild his reputation and regain his status.

Sebastian felt like rolling his eyes, but he acknowledged the boy instead, his smile just a trifle friendlier than he would have otherwise. "Hello, Draco," he said, nodding. He glanced at Hermione, who appeared to be very annoyed at the exchange and surreptitiously winked at her. Snape interrupted before she could open her mouth.

"Class is over. Dismissed." His silky voice slid neatly through the room and children began instantly to pack their things. Neatly sidestepping Draco Malfoy, he made his way up the aisle to the teaching platform, nodding very tiny acknowedgements to the children who had been at the Ministry. Potter was watching him with respect, and a boy sitting beside Miss Granger was staring at him with reverence bordering on awe. Miss Granger seemed to be calculating something in her head and watched him carefully. Sebastian wasn't too worried. She was smart enough not to broadcast his Ministry escapades in front of a classroom full of junior Death Eaters.

In fact, she waited until the rest of the class had left and he was chatting with Severus to bustle back in, stopping once inside the door. Severus turned a disdainful and mildly dismissive glare towards her.

"Miss Granger, this had better be important." Sebastian realized that he had never told anyone of Miss Granger's hand in his coninued good health. Sighing, he supposed he should rectify the situation.

"She's fine, Snape. She's come for me." He swung his glance back to her. "Right?"

She nodded, blushing. Snape made a strange noise of surprise beside him. "_You?_ How does she know _you_?"

Sebastian invited Miss Granger to sit down near the front of the class and settled himself in a chair. "It's a long story, but I believe you'll find it intriguing."

He recounted Miss Granger's accident and the consequences of it, mainly his declining the invitation to join the Death Eaters the first time around and his subsequent mission to train himself to the peak of lethality.

By the end of it, Miss Granger was blushing furiously but seemed also intensely curious at his life after she had run into him the first time.

When he was finished, Sebastian turned a lazy grin on Miss Granger and drawled: "You do realize, Miss Granger, that you are the only person in existence who has experienced life in both realities?"

She nodded quickly. "It was very strange. When I left you had been dead for years, and I only knew of you because your name was in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ because you were one of the youngest casualties on the side of the Death Eaters. But when I got back, twenty minutes later, your name was all over the library and there was even a book detailing your supposed disappearance and the reasons behind your turning your back on your family seat! Of course I knew why, but no one else did, and I couldn't even tell anyone!" She seemed to realize she had spoken more than she'd intended and clamped her mouth shut.

Severus was staring at her as if she were insane, and Sebastian wondered how, if at all, their relationship would change in light of this revelation. After all, after Lucius Malfoy, he was probably one of Severus' only true friends. Knowing that his 'know-it-all' student, as he called her when discussing work with Sebastian, was responsible for his being alive at all would probably make Severus both indescribably irritated and yet grudgingly respectful towards her.

Sebastian grinned again. "Funny how life works out, isn't it?" He crossed his ankles and reclined gracefully.

Miss Granger stood up. "I should go. I just came because I wanted to know if – if I could write to you. If you wouldn't oppose, or -"

"That would be fine, Miss Granger. No problem at all. I believe we have some catching up to do."

She smiled at him, her bushy hair emphasizing the curve and color of her mouth. "Thank you, Sebastian. And call me Hermione." She slung her bag over her shoulder. "Don't , I knew you when you were fifteen." She grinned impishly at him and walked out, leaving him staring after her until the door clicked closed. Shaking his head, he started to laugh.

"That girl is truly rather remarkable."

"Yes, so I hear." Severus curled his lip. "Every staff meeting seems to feature a good portion of time spent fawning over her brilliance." He narrowed his eyes. "If you start fawning as well, you may consider our acquaintance to be severed."

"Perish the thought," Sebastian smirked.

"Consider yourself warned." Severus glanced at him sideways. "I know you did not give the Dark Lord the orb; but how, precisely, are you going to get away with not being killed next time he calls you? Having six of his best Death Eater's captured is not going to make him an easily man to placate."

Sebastian allowed his lips to curve into a slow, knowing smile. "Oh, don't you worry on my account, Severus. I have a plan. Or rather, Dumbledore and I have a plan."

"Merlin," Severus breathed. "I hope to be far, far away when this is carried out."

Sebastian clapped him on the back. "Don't be such a pussy. What's the worst that could happen?"

Sebastian had wanted, for a brief time, to insert a dirty joke into the Prophecy, or a taunt of some sort, said in a silly voice, just for the entertainment value. Dumbledore, while amused at the thought, had wisely negated this course of action and had, with Sebastian's help, written an intelligently vague but hopeful sounding few lines that would be depressing enough to sound realistic, but hopeful enough for the Dark Lord's defeat of Potter that he would be so bouyed at his own foretold longevity that he would ignore or not notice the innocuousness of the rest of the Prophecy.

Sebatian delivered it the day after it was finished, eerie voice and all.

"Ah, Villeneauve, one of so few who have not yet disappointed me," the Snake Lord hissed in welcome. Sebastian suppressed a shudder at the Dark Lord's use of the word 'yet'. "Have you come with the Prophecy?"

"I have, my Lord." He pulled a small, grubby brown package from his pocket and presented it with outstretched arms.

Delighted, the Dark Lord reached out and quickly divested the orb of its wrappings, and commanded it to open.

The same, wavering but ethereal sounding voice erupted from the orb and made itself heard throughout the throne room. The Dark Lord was enraptured, his slitted smile growing wider and wider as the Prophecy went on.

Sebastian and Dumbledore had attempted to leave the Prophecy as close to recent events and the original Prophecy as possible, while also leading the Dark Lord to believe that his imminent take-over of England, and eventually, everywhere else, would happen only with a fair fight. Dumbledore had stressed that the Dark Lord musn't attack Potter or Hogwarts until Potter was as ready as he could possibly be. Sebastian agreed.

""_The ones with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approach_

_The first born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies_

_And the Dark Lord will mark one as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not_

_But the Dark Lord will rise from ashes in fire with a heavy fist_

_Evenly matched shall they be, for neither can live while the other survives_

_The second to vanquish born only should the first fail, born from within his closest ranks_

_The Dark Lord was silent for a long while as he recited the Prophecy over and over to himself, committing it to memory. Finally, he turned his scarlet eyes on Sebastain. "And you are certain that Potter and that fool Dumbledore know nothing of the contents?"_

_"I am certain," Sebastian lied. _

_The Dark Lord creaked his lips into a smile again, positively jubilant. "You have done well, Villeneauve. Very well indeed." He pocketed the orb and stood. Every Death Eater in the room bowed low to the ground, Sebastian included. _

_"Narcissa," said the Dark Lord in a hiss, "I have business with you. Bring the boy."_


	5. Chapter Four

Fight or Flight

Chapter Four

Sebastian had hoped to use the day as a recuperation period, but, he reflected as he turned on the spot and Apparated to Hogwarts for the second time that week, he should have realized that it was a futile hope. Working with Dumbledore had a dreadful vacation package, few health benefits, and long, long hours – all of which he'd known when he'd signed up.

Twenty minutes after arriving at the gate and trudging up the path to the castle alongside a still grumpy Filch, Sebastian entered Dumbledore's office.

"Ah, Sebastian. Good of you to accept my invitation on such short notice," said Dumbledore in greeting.

Sebastian could have laughed, had he been in a better mood. His invitation had been less an invitation than a direct order. He had received the 'invitation' from a whinging, stubborn-as-hell Phoenix hell-bent on jolting him from his sleep, an envelope clenched firmly in its beak. Batting it away hadn't worked, and neither had various death threats, and so Sebastian had awoken, only a scant few hours after falling into bed in the first place. The only thing about the note to lend itself to the appearance of 'invitation' was the hastily scribbled 'Please' at the end of it.

"Hello, Albus," Sebastian said unhappily. Normally, he was quite unfazed by operating on little sleep, but he usually had the whole night before to psych himself up for a day of bleariness, rather than being disturbed when all he could think about was resting.

"Well?" Sebastian demanded when no reply seemed to be forthcoming.

Dumbledore sat down and busied himself with tea, taking his sweet time.

Finally, after three firmly rebuffed offers of tea to his guest, Dumbledore sighed and looked up, steepling his fingers.

"I called you here to discuss the events of last night. You provided Tom with the adjusted prophecy, yes?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes. He was a grown man, thirty-five years old, and for crying out loud - he wasn't stupid and he definitely wasn't the type to talk in endless circles, skirting around the subject like a skittish teenager. "You know I did. He accepted it, and we need to move on."

"Of course," Dumbledore sipped his tea.

"What have you decided so far about the Dark Lord? Have you told Harry, yet?"

"Leave that to me. You focus on the Death Eaters."

Sebastian did not like being left out of the loop, but he gritted his teeth and moved on. He was not in the mood for arguing, especially with a man so damned hard to argue against as Dumbledore. "I'll need some time to build a solid base before I can begin operations. At the moment, I'm one man working against a solid, organized group. I'm not even quite sure how many Death Eaters there _are._"

"We have limited time," Dumbledore said.

"I know that, but there isn't much I can do until I have a more detailed picture. The Dark Lord keeps his cards close. He doesn't share more than is absolutely necessary. The only other person who might know more than the rest of us is Bellatrix, but she would never betray a word."

"That _is _problematic," the old man said.

"Indeed." Sebastian paused. "I may need to bring someone else in, to help me."

"Who?"

"A useful contact I made in the first war. She's probably the best set-up for taking them down apart from the Order. She's the best recon man this side of Russia."

"How do you know she won't betray you?"

"I saved her life, once." The problem wouldn't be convincing her, the problem would be finding her. "She owes me."

"If you're certain… " Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. "But I must insist that she be told nothing of the Order."

"That won't be a problem," Sebastian said. And it wouldn't be, really. If he knew Ari Blackstone, and he did, she would already know absolutely everything about the Order that there was to know.

After Dumbledore was finished grilling him about his plans, Sebastian changed the subject. "I have a proposition. It's loosely related, and I feel as though this is an opportunity we can't afford to miss…"

"Go on."

"I would like to offer two internship positions at the Prophet this summer, for students."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"Even if Ari does agree to help me, this will be useful."

"I think you'd better explain," he said plainly, fingering his beard.

"I'm putting forth an offer of two positions for two students I've already chosen. A basic internship on the surface, with a small salary. One month of menial office work, two weeks shadowing a higher position of interest to the student, Journalistic or otherwise, and two weeks on a special project."

"That is most… generous of you."

"Not really. Quite selfish, actually. I'll be building up a future employee bank to choose from once the students graduate. But it'll be a good learning experience for the students, not to mention free access to young, fresh insight."

"Why do I get the feeling that you're using my students," Dumbledore frowned.

"Because I am." Sebastian cleared his throat. "The students I've chosen are Hermione Granger…" Dumbledore nodded as if this were expected, "…and Draco Malfoy."

"Draco Malfoy? Sebastian…"

"He has a head for business and has expressed his wish to learn more about the industry to me on another occasion. He deserves this chance."

"Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger do not get along. He will never consent to work with her."

"I understand the problems, but Draco Malfoy is in a precarious position, Headmaster. If he isn't shown another way out, an honest way, he'll be lost. You can't understand this as I can. You think he can be redeemed. But please understand, he won't accept charity, and he won't take a cowards way out. If he gets out of the Dark Lord's service, it'll be on his own terms." And right now, the boy didn't even know that he _would _want out. He was walking right into a prison, and he only had so many months of freedom left.

"He's just a boy, he can't know –"

"I was 'just a boy' too, Headmaster. We both know what happened. He's just like me, you know; like I was," Sebastian corrected. "You don't want to see the truth of it, but there it is."

"You don't give him enough credit, Sebastian," Dumbledore chided softly.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. "I give him more credit than you do. He's not a pawn. He'll never be a pawn. He won't leave the Dark Lord for _you_. If he leaves, it will be for himself."

"Severus was in much the same position, and he-"

"Severus was _never_ in the same position. He couldn't have been. His father was dead by the time he was sixteen, and his mother couldn't have helped him if she'd wanted to. He was alone. Draco is not. Severus never had to turn his back on a family."

"So what, precisely, do you think you're going to accomplish by offering an _apprenticeship,_" Dumbledore asked coldly.

"A way out."

"And Miss Granger? They are, as you say, from different worlds," he pointed out.

"Again, you underestimate the power of young people. Hermione saved me…"

"And you hope she'll do the same for Draco," Dumbledore sighed.

"Yes," Sebastian admitted. "I do."

.

.

Sebastian sat with Draco in a quiet, out of use classroom, wondering if he was making the right decision. Draco wasn't making it easy to work out.

The boy was reclining in a nonchalant manner against the backrest of his desk, his blonde hair shining brightly.

"I have decided to open a position for an internship."

Draco did not say anything, merely waving his hand in a motion for Sebastian to continue.

"After speaking with you, I wish to formally offer you one of the positions. It would begin almost immediately after holidays commence, on the 1st of July. You would receive a salary, to be paid every Friday, and forty-five Galleons. If you choose to accept the offer," Sebastian carried on, "you would treat this as any other job. Attendance is mandatory, and only two absences will be permitted, or your position at the Prophet will be terminated. At the end of the two month term, if completed, your name will be put on the top of a list which makes your hiring into the company once you're finished school a guarantee – at a raised position and salary than you would receive without having done the internship. I will need your final decision by Friday at the very latest."

"I will, of course, have to speak with my mother about this," Draco's cheek twitched, and Sebastian could guess the direction of his thoughts – his father was in Azkaban, or he would have spoken with him.

"That is not a problem," Sebastian said. "Please owl my secretary, Flora Midgen, with your answer when you can." After a second, Sebastian added, "Keep in mind, Draco, that with your father currently unable to teach you over the holidays, your education for running Malfoy Holdings one day will suffer. This could be considered a trial run. If all goes well, you can run your own department for two weeks, to get a feel for it."

"Yes, sir," Draco said, stony faced. The boy stood and shook Sebastian's hand, and left, leaving Sebastian to think about what he hoped to accomplish with the boy. The boy had been raised by a calculating, dangerous and manipulative man, and he showed signs of becoming exactly the same way when he was an adult, mixed with a small, but threatening amount of his mother's temper. In short, the boy was a ticking time bomb with no hope for a normal life unless someone showed him how to live another way.

But Sebastian could look at him and see himself, a mirror image of what he'd been like as a teenager. He had been spoiled, self-possessed and selfish, and all it had taken for Sebastian to change his path was an external threat to shove him in the right direction. His own fortitude and stubbornness had done the rest.

The fevered words of a terrified, intelligent girl had changed his life.

Was it so hard to imagine that her words might change another life for the better as well?

.

.

His meeting with Hermione was much more pleasant. Hermione, brilliant and inquisitive child that she was, was filled to the brim with questions and could barely contain herself enough to ask them all in a calm, ordered manner.

Where with Draco, Sebastian had felt strained and put-upon knowing that the boys' future might depend upon him saying exactly the right thing, speaking with Hermione and offering her the position was relieving, and seeing her so excited about it made him feel much lighter, not to mention much better appreciated.

"You would be paid a weekly sum of forty-five Galleons," Sebastian said, but she waved her hand in dismissal.

"I'd do it for free," she said. "Think of the experience!" She paused. "Would I be able to intern under an investigative journalist?"

Sebastian wasn't surprised. "I'll see what I can do, but I don't see why not," he said. "Are you sure you don't want to work under an editor? It's a more prestigious position – you would be working for the boss." Currently, Sebastian was acting as editor because he fired the old one, but he hoped to have found a new editor by mid-July at the latest. He wasn't enjoying both running the company logistically and economically. He knew he wasn't any good at it. He was a born businessman – he was born making deals and signing contacts and reading and deciphering fine print. But he was utter crap at actually micro-managing the paper. He suspected Hermione might enjoy it. She had a very anal air about her, and he felt the job would suit her.

"Well, I've thought about it. But I think I love research more than anything. It feels very natural to me, and I suppose it's not that much different than writing essays, is it? And if I were to change my mind about editing later, it would do me good to have a base in field-work, wouldn't it? It would come in handy. And besides," she laughed, "editing seems a little too much to me like fixing Ron and Harry's homework."

Sebastian laughed. "Journalism it is."

"I'll have to ask my parents, of course, but they won't say no."

She paused as though just realizing something. "I'll need an approved form of transportation. The Ministry won't set up the Floo at my parents' house because I'm underage and they're Muggles. I suppose I could use the tube…"

"I could pull some strings and send you a resettable Portkey. It will only go to and from the Prophet."

"Oh, you'd do that? That would be so perfect…" she smiled. "You don't have to... I live very close to Diagon Alley, it wouldn't be much of a hassle to take the Tube..."

"You'll receive your Portkey the first day," Sebastian said firmly.

"What is the first day?"

"July 1st, 9:00 am. Same time Monday through Friday for the duration." She nodded. "I'll offer you the same extension I gave the other intern. If all goes well by the second half of August, I'll give you an assignment of your own – your own story, to be published."

Her eyes flashed with excitement. "Really?" she breathed.

"Really," Sebastian affirmed.

.

.

Sebastian was standing a few feet behind Severus during the nights' meeting when Narcissa Malfoy, closely followed by her son, made her entrance through the side door of the makeshift, standing-room-only meeting room, which had once upon a time probably been a ballroom. She pushed her way through the crowd of writhing bodies without actually touching anyone, seemingly using the sheer force of her icy personality to part a pathway through the crowd.

Draco looked well, considering his father had recently been arrested and his home-life was no doubt filled with vast upheaval. His pale, pointed face wore a mask of grim determination beset by confidence and the knowledge that he was a Malfoy and so would inevitably get his own way; his robes were immaculate, and his hair, white as salt, shone like the lit end of a match in the crowd of dark, hooded and cloaked Death Eaters.

It was, Sebastian had to admit, incredibly hard not to notice him.

Narcissa led her son through the throng to bow before the thin figure of the Dark Lord, who watched their entrance impassively from his dais, his snake curled protectively around his ankles, hissing and snapping and flicking her tongue like a whip.

Draco seemed to become a touch concerned when he was expected to bow, exposing the back of his neck to Nagini. But to his credit, he merely gritted his teeth and bent his back, bowing just low enough to be respectful. Sebastian was impressed. Quite clearly, Draco had been groomed for this.

The Dark Lord peered closely at the boy for several long moments, during which time Draco squared his shoulders and stood proudly. Before breaking the sensitive silence around them with speech. "So, the young Malfoy is presented at last. And he appears to have inherited at least one of his fathers'… many talents." The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes. "Impertinence."

Draco looked up sharply. "I have meant no offence, My Lord."

"'My Lord', is it? _Am _I your Lord? Or do you simply slither before me because it is the desire of your mother."

"I wish nothing more than to serve you, My Lord. If my mother desires anything, it is that I should be useful to you."

"Well spoken, young Malfoy," the Dark Lord said. His tone suggested amusement. "I see that Lucius has not failed in raising you properly, which is more than can be said for anything else he has done for me – even if you are excessively _proud_. How old are you?"

"Near sixteen, My Lord," Draco said.

"By the time I was sixteen, I had already mastered all three Unforgivables and studied most modern curses. Tell me, Malfoy - _your_ accomplishments. Are they many?"

"I would not presume to compare myself with My Lord," Draco said diplomatically.

"And yet, as I ask it of you, you will."

"Of course. I have not mastered the Killing curse, but I am quite capable of performing Imperio and Crucio."

The Dark Lord was silent for a moment, and Sebastian saw the tensing of Draco's shoulders as time dragged on and still he had no answer. Finally, the Dark Lord stood. "That will change." He pulled his wand from his sleeve. "Draco Malfoy, you are willing to serve me?"

"Yes," Draco said, his eyes widening.

"You are willing to accept me as your one true master?"

"Yes."

"You are willing to bind yourself, permanently, to me?"

"Yes."

Sebastian reeled. This was not good. This was definitely not good. If Draco was to have any chance at all, he could _not _receive the mark. A glance at Severus and Sebastian knew the Potions Master agreed by the tense set of his shoulders. Sebastian thought furiously.

"My Lord!" Sebastian called suddenly. His voice rang violently through the room and nearly everyone turned to look at him. Sebastian ignored them all and watched the Dark Lord carefully. "My Lord! Forgive me –"

"Villeneauve," the Dark Lord said flatly. "You dare to interrupt me…"

"Only to serve you, My Lord," Sebastian said. He pushed his way through the crowd and dropped to a low, low bow and kissed the Lord's hem. "Only to serve you," he repeated.

"Explain."

"Please – don't mark Malfoy – not now, not yet…"

"Why?" the Dark Lord snapped, his nostrils flaring.

"My Lord, you sought my allegiance because my occupation provided me with special insight – a specialized view, if you will - of this war. I wish only to put my skills to use."

"Explain," the Dark Lord said again.

"You have told me the task which you will set for Malfoy," Sebastian began. "But I fear he will not be able to complete it successfully if you brand him with your own mark. Dumbledore has ways – he will know, the instant Draco sets foot in Hogwarts, that Draco is yours. There are wards, and the castle's allegiance belongs with its Headmaster. It will betray you, and Draco will be found." Sebastian stood back up. He was rather impressed with himself. That was the greatest load of bullshit he'd ever come up with on the spot, ever. He hoped Severus was watching.

"Severus seems to have no such problems," the Dark Lord pointed out. "Neither did Lucius, when he went to the school for the purpose of serving on the governors' board."

"Dumbledore already knows about both of them. He believes Severus is his agent, and everyone knows Lucius serves you. But Lucius' influence and wealth are such that no one dares to speak out against him."

"I see. So what is your suggestion."

"Bind Draco not directly to you, but to someone who serves you – that way he will do your bidding, but indirectly, and he will be unimpeded. The Wards only recognize your mark, not the bond."

"And who, exactly, are you nominating."

"I will do it," Sebastian said. "Bind Draco to me, and none will suspect a thing. I don't have your mark, but you know I am your servant. He will seem to be bound to no-one and none will be the wiser about his intent."

The Dark Lord was silent for a long time, thinking, and he used Legilimency on Sebastian. Sebastian threw up several images from his imagination, of wards that did not exist and slavishness he did not feel.

"Very well, Villeneauve. He will be bound to you. Kneel."

"Yes, My Lord."

Draco was therefore bound, not to the Dark Lord, but to Sebastian. Sebastian was utterly impressed with himself. Sebastian was utterly impressed with himself. As the meeting dwindled to a close, he meandered closer to Narcissa and his new charge.

"Villeneauve," Narcissa hissed. "You had better know what you're doing – if you ruin anything… If you make more trouble for my family…" She choked on her own fury and her hurry to spit her words out as fast as she could under her breath. Her normally pale face took on a violent pink undertone and her jaw was clenched.

"Narcissa, I promise – I'm not going to ruin you." Sebastian tried to give her a meaningful look, to convey that he was doing this for their own good, but she was either too upset to see it or his acting needed improvement. "I'm helping you – all of you."

"I don't believe you."

"You don't have to believe me. Just trust me. Please."

"Why? Why would you help us?" Her voice sounded tense and desperate. She was a mother at the end of her resources.

"This is not the time, nor the place," Sebastian said quietly, and stepped closer. "Come to my townhouse tonight at midnight and I'll explain everything." He stepped back and cleared his throat before continuing loudly for the benefit of eavesdroppers. "So, Narcissa, did Draco tell you about my offer?"

"Offer?"

"An internship position has been opened at the Prophet with him in mind – let him get his feet wet in the business world, and all."

"An internship?"

"And if he accepts, he'll be managing an entire department for two weeks. Just to get the feel of things. I understand he's interested in that sort of thing," he said, consciously deepening his tone so she might understand to look deeper into his words. She, regaining her bearing, did. Her features softened and she suddenly looked much more relaxed.

"That's very kind of you," she murmured. "Draco, dear, you must thank Mr. Villeneauve for considering you."

"Thank you for the consideration, Mr. Villeneauve," Draco said, a mite petulant. Sebastian glanced at the boy and noted the hard stare and pocketed hands.

"Nothing to thank me for," Sebastian smiled. "I'm a selfish man, you understand. You can bet I have ulterior motives."

"Such as," Draco drawled.

"Well, cheap labour is one," he grinned.

"Hah hah."

"Well," Sebastian said, suddenly tired. "I should be off. I have some things to look after tonight. Draco, you can await my instructions for your task."

"Yes, sir."

Sebastian bid them both goodnight and headed home to prepare for his meeting. While he waited, he drafted a letter and considered how he was going to get Ari Blackstone to open it without burning it on sight once she realized who it was from.

.

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_**A/N: Hello everyone! I apologize a thousand times for how late this is in coming, but I hope you got over your annoyance at me and enjoyed it! My computer, as some of you know, crashed, and its taken me this long to rewrite all of the various chapters for my various stories. This won't take so long again, I swear. :)**_

_**Happy reading, everyone!**_

_**Alex**_


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